A Neverwere Instance
by 6wingdragon
Summary: A vignette based off characters and ideas from "The Neverwere Moments", meant to exist outside and parallel to the fanon. Enjoy!


_This is simply a fun little thing I wrote between chapters of Neverwere Moments, based off a re-conceptualization of Judy's "The Burrow" as she rebuilds her own little world into a better place._

 _Detective Laverne "Lovey" Hopps: an operatic singer in a past life, now a star detective with unparalleled aural observational skills._

 _Detective Piberius "Pib" Wilde: a gardener and secret composer in a past life, now a genius observer and mystery solver._

 _The Kingdom of Mammalia: the greater area of an old-timey Zootopia, loosely based in turn-of-the-century society with some minor modern conveniences, but traditional practices. The Burrow is now the biggest farm and produce supplier of the kingdom. Luck is still the "faith" with each mammal (not simply rabbits and foxes, anymore) keyed into their own fortune. It's an almost ideal place, but has its share of crime and mischief, perhaps most worrisome is "witchcraft" and "curses", a thing which exists but not openly talked about or practiced. Some examples include the thumping of a rabbit's foot to signal the presence of dark magic and curses (which the mentioning off can be warded off by holding one's breath and knocking three times on wood), and foxes have a innate resistance to (so long as they "keep their heads about them", in a manner of speaking)._

* * *

It was a time of jubilation during the Fortunes Abound Festival. The Burrow was abuzz with activity for theirs was a tremendous task, one shared by many great farms surrounding the Mammalia Kingdom to supply fresh fruits and vegetables year 'round. As expected for so busy a farm as the Burrow there is a greater potential for mischief, but the fine farmers, crafters and merchants had nothing to fear with the Royal Constabulary on the watch for everyday troublemakers and lawbreakers.

This was not an everyday troublemaker or lawbreaker, though.

This was a mystery most perplexing to the stalwart squires of the Constabulary.

This was a job for the best detectives the kingdom had to offer.

"Good morning, sir, I am Detective Laverne Hopps," said a silver-furred, violet-eyed rabbit in white blouse and mahogany vest, with a beige dress and a dark blue coat, all topped by a homburg in matching shades of color to her eyes. A detective's badge shone brightly upon her bosom as she greeted with a cheerful, professional smile, "and this is my partner, Detective Piberius Wilde."

"Cheers," grinned the green-eyed, scarlet fox, tipping his faded-gray bowler cap with a trademark grin. Both paws then folded behind his long, midnight-black traveler's coat, revealing the dark pine green waistcoat and caramel-brown slacks he wore, as well as the haphazard scarf loosely tied around his neck. His badge, likewise, clung to his chest, if in need of a good polishing.

"Aye, a g'morn to you both, I'm Mr. Twiller," worried a ram, the Burrow's local smith, "'Tis a terrible business at such a time as this. I dread it speaks of _awful_ luck in the days t'come."

"That's what we're here to figure out, Mr. Twiller, so let's start from the top," Detective Hopps insisted, her neatly bound notebook and charcoal pencil at the ready.

"Well, I came out this morning to my shop, y'see, because something spooked me awake," began the ram, and gestured toward his anvil and forge.

"A little further up from the top, if you please," Detective Wilde interrupted.

"I… I don't think I follow, sir?"

"Start from immediately _before_ you woke up, Mr. Twiller," the fox clarified with a disarming smile, and walked briskly past the fretting smith and into the directed shop, keen eyes to the floor as he took great care in where he stepped. First he looked behind the ram, and then skulked to the forge and its mystery therein.

The ram scratched his head, but did as was asked and thought back to his waking moments, "Well, sir, there was a sudden clap of _thunder_ , and light patter of rain, and I thought that an odd thing, I did. T'wasn't a single cloud in the sky at dawn, nor is there _now?_ " he said, looking up at the azure overhead with a wave of his hoof. Hopps jotted down each tidbit eagerly. "I couldn't spare a moment on it, though, figurin' that what I heard weren't really there, so I decided to go about warming up my forge only to find it-!"

"Suspiciously wet," announced Wilde, pulling his head out of the forge, "And not a drop of water anywhere nearby."

"Nor outside," reported Hopps, sweeping her eyes at the ground only damp by morning dew, which was quick to dry up, "It hasn't rained in almost a week's time, nor is it expected to until after the Festival."

"Yet I heard a small _storm_ of some type, and it must've been _inside_ my forge, elsewise how'd the water in get in there?"

"Quite so," agreed Wilde, "Not a print from either hoof or paw nor any trace of a scent, other than your own, Mr. Twiller." He walked around the forge itself, and examined the back of it with a curious grunt, but otherwise was quiet as he walked past his partner and the blacksmith, clasping both paws behind his back as he stared off into the distance at the brewing festivities of the farmland. "Were there any other reports of flooded kilns, maybe from the local glassblower, or the oven of a baker?" he asked, though whether it was asked of Mr. Twiller or Detective Hopps was unclear.

"Ney, not that _I_ 've heard," answered the ram, "Do you suppose it might be a… a _curse_?" he dared to speak before holding his breath, and then reached over to knock thrice upon a wooden beam of his shop to exhale.

Hopps smiled patiently as she closed her notebook to tuck it into her coat pocket, but also hiked the dirt-kissed hem of her dress the barest measure and presented her still foot, "Fret not, Mr. Twiller, I feel no witchcraft nearby. We at the Royal Constabulary believe there is a simple answer and shall endeavor to discover it. For the time being, drain your kiln to dry it out; with a little luck, your hard work will catch you up to your orders of the day."

"So it wasn't foul arts which befell my forge?" asked Mr. Twiller, putting a hoof to his wooly chest and so release a heavy sigh in the knowledge that a rabbit's foot did not thump at his threshold, "Such is a weight off my soul, Detective Hopps. Bless you, bless you."

Wilde sniffed at the air with an approving trill, "I smell some de _lect_ able thing," he grinned, nose pointing down the road gently curving around an open field, and adjusted his bowler cap against the mid-morning sunlight, "Come, Lovey, second breakfast awaits."

The rabbit tipped her hat and half-curtseyed to the ram before following the swift stride of her partner. "Business before pleasure, Pib," she amiably chastised with a sweep of her ears, "I'm sure I can hear a gaffer nearer than the baker."

"My dear bunny," smirked the fox, green eyes scanning the shops they passed, "The glassblower's store front is pointed in the wrong direction, therefore it would be a waste of time to investigate it."

Lovey harrumphed in amusement, "Already figured it out, did you? And I was so hoping to spend the day in this fresh, rural air. What further business do we have in the bakery, then?"

Pib _tsktsked_ his finger, "Confirmation, Lovey, of no less or more than a hunch. If I am right, then it can help find the perpetrator and close this case before too long. If I am _wrong_ , then it's a fine excuse to grab a scone before we continue our countryside investigation."

They travelled along the rim of the open field upon which a market is often set up for daily produce exchange, but for the time being, was laden with erecting festivities thoughtfully scanned by Pib's keen, green eyes. Lovey looked up at the baker's sign of a wooden pie with a whimsical smile etched into it as they entered. The shelves within were being stocked with treats by a fox that was large for his species, looking more like a small, red wolf. His ears flicked and nostrils flared as he turned his shaggy head about in address, "Good morning," he said in low, careful speech, and his blue eyes widened behind a pair of curtain-like bangs when he spotted the glimmer of the badges upon their attire and clutched his basket of sweet rolls, "Oh, the Constabul'ry…?"

"Worry not, fellow fox," he assured with a tip of his hat and cordial grin, "We are Detectives Pib Wilde and Lovey Hopps, here on business and whatnot. If you've a minute to spare, mayhaps we might trouble you a question or three?" Lovey had her notebook out once more with a patient smile.

He eyed them both, "Well, uhh…" he began, and set the basket of sweeties on a nearby table to fold his mitt-like-paws in front of him, "I am Gid Grey, but known as 'Big Gid', and to the best of my knowing, there's not been a lick o' trouble here."

"No issues with your oven, Mr. Grey?" Lovey asked pointedly.

"N-… " he paused, considered with a flick of his ears, and then shook his head, "No ma'am, it's as said; no trouble."

Pib hummed in thought, looking the larger fox up and down and then sweeping the storefront, even leaning over to catch sight of an equally large, notably lit oven, just visible over the counter, and then smiled wide as he breathed in the air, "What _is_ that heavenly aroma you have baking back there?"

"Oh!" he grinned, and pivoted to peer over his shoulder and then wave a pointing finger towards his kitchen, "Tha's some blueberry muffins, nearly ready, if you'd like some?"

"What extraordinary luck," beamed Pib, "Nothing brightens a day better than fresh blueberry muffins; wouldn't you agree, Lovey?"

The rabbit pondered this as she followed the foxes around the counter and into the kitchen, "I argue that a fresh, honeyed biscuit trumps a buttered muffin, Pib, but I am not one to lord one pastry over the other," she grinned, and as she hoped, gained Big Gid's attention with such a statement.

"I've honey, butter, _and_ biscuits, if you'd like?" Big Gid offered, and stood in front of his stores shelf as the detectives let themselves into his kitchen.

"Well, maybe _one_ biscuit couldn't hurt," she considered, and winked up at her partner as the larger fox turned to address his pantry, while the smaller fox turned to address the oven. He glimpsed inside at the baking muffins and spotted what he needed to see at the very back: a deformity on the inside wall as though it were struck with a cannonball.

"I changed my mind, Big Gid, and would also love a biscuit, but with honey _and_ butter," Pib quickly said when he returned adjacent to his partner, "After all, we would not want to take up _too_ much of your time, what with the Festival so nearby. It looks like they've been at it throughout night, too. I don't suppose they kept you awake any?"

"Not even a li'l," chuckled the baker as the detectives each partook of a honeyed, buttered biscuit which he soon laid out, "I'm a right heavy sleeper, so all that bangin' and noise out there didn't stir _me_ the slightest."

Pib's brow quirked in a high arch, "Ah, you _are_ one of the lucky ones," he chuckled in turn as he finished off his biscuit, "Well, Lovey my dear, we should be off. Thank you for your time, Big Gid," he said with a tip of his hat, "A blessed day to you."

"And yerself, sir," grinned the baker, and nodded as politely as he could to Lovey, "Ma'am, a blessed day to you, as well."

She tipped her hat in a half-curtsey and lead the way out with her partner in tow, walking calmly until they were out of the shop and out of earshot. "Informative, Pib?" she asked as the fox continued walking, heading towards the gentle slope leading into the open field.

"Exquisitely so," he grinned, "We might have this case closed before lunch, but in the meantime, keep watch for any shaved ice stalls, possibly run by a _rhino_."

"Rather specific," Lovey commented, but knowingly smiled, "What do you suppose Big Gid was hiding on his spice rack?"

"Nothing so incriminating as to keep us from knowing about it, but perhaps he'd rather _no_ one know about his stash of bananas; in this climate and this time of year, I imagine his methods of acquiring them are a jealously guarded secret," Pib calmly explained, "But _really_ , Lovey, it's irrelevant to the case."

"A mere curiosity, my dear Pib," she grinned, scanning the vendors of what wares were visible, ears twitching at so much more, though, as she could hear the sounds of shifting, shaved ice, and changed course appropriately with no more than a momentary tug on Pib's sleeve. As they approached, they could see the tall, broad form of a lady rhinoceros, clad in apron and bright attire with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. "Good morning, ma'am!" called Lovey as she and her partner leapt onto an empty stool each.

"Sorry, sir and miss," said the rhino over her shoulder, but looked again and spotted the gleaming badges on their coats, "Oh, detectives? Sorry once again, I thought ye might be customers, and as I'm not yet open, well…" she laughed and wiped her large, gray hands clean with the apron, "Mrs. Purnstine, at your service," she said with a quick, full curtsey.

Each detective doffed their hats and set them nearby, but contrary to their personal policy of questioning, it was Pib who spoke up as Lovey rest her chin upon folded fingers, "'Tis a shame to hear you're not yet opened, Mrs. Purnstine, my partner and I were discussing what a delight it'd be to have a quick bite of shaved ice, though only a single of your largest serving would suffice for the likes of we."

"I think I can let a thing like that slide this _once_ ," she tittered, and pivoted to pop open a wooden crate with the product inside, reaching down to scoop out a great handful, which her powerful knuckles compacted into a single ball as quick as a wink, fingers moving with extraordinary dexterity until a perfect sphere of snowy white was soon set into a bowl, and placed before the detectives. "What be your passion?" she asked, holding up a few syrups for their choosing.

"Surprise us," chimed Lovey, exchanging a sly glance with Pib. To this, Mrs. Purnstine took two different syrups and poured a little of each onto the cannonball-sized orb of shaved ice, and then stuck two spoons into it.

"That was some amazing work, if I do say so myself," the fox commented, digging the spoon into the solid - yet pliable - snowball to scoop both flavors at once to chomp it down with a pleased growl.

"My blushes," said the rhino, wiping her hands upon her apron once more.

"Truly, your hand-eye coordination is exemplary," he continued, "Curiously speaking, how's your throwing arm?"

"Well…" the rhino paused with a flick of her ears, "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity, as I said," and Pib took another bite before continuing, "Another point of curiosity, Mrs. Purnstine, is that you have a clear _shot_ to both the smith's forge and the baker's oven," he said, and pivoted in his stool to point them both out with his spoon, which he then tapped at the ball of shaved ice, "I imagine you could launch a projectile like this with _alarming_ accuracy, if given the opportunity and inclination; for example, if said smith and baker were in the habit of leaving a few embers to safely smolder well through the night and into the dawn, for that extra bit of warmth."

"Now, see here, Mr. … umm…"

"Detectives Laverne Hopps and Piberius Wilde," Lovey casually informed between bites, "And by my reckoning, if either of those snowballs you threw _hit_ someone, you might've taken off a limb, crushed their ribcage… lobbed off their _head_ if they were especially unlucky. Now, officially, no one's _charged_ anything-"

"Although I'm sure Mr. Twiller _might_ if he catches sight of that dent in the back of his forge," added Pib.

"-And there was wasn't any _real_ damage of property. As it stands, the baker, Mr. Grey, likely didn't even hear the bang of one of your snowballs hitting his oven, or the sizzling of the shaved ice as it put out the smoldering embers, _but_ \- Mrs. Purnstine - Mr. Twiller spent a good part of the morning dreading that his forge was cursed," the rabbit explained.

"Curses are not taken likely in the Mammalia Kingdom," the fox said, "even if they _do_ have a mundane, if unordinary, explanation."

"Be that as it may," Lovey said, and set her spoon down as her partner finished up the shaved ice, and looked directly at an equally frozen Mrs. Purnstine, before donning her hat once more with a smirk as polite as a smirk could be, "It _is_ the Fortunes Abounding Festival, so one might say there's still a chance to turn your luck around."

"Were I _you_ ," Pib pondered aloud to the rhino, letting the spoon clatter in the bowl, "I'd have myself an upfront and honest apology with Mr. Twiller, he seems quite the understanding bloke," and joined his partner in their leave after grabbing his own hat.

Well away from stall and heading towards the train station to catch a midday back into the kingdom proper, Lovey turned to her partner while reviewing her notes, "I've a few clarifications needed, if you don't mind, Pib."

"Always, for my most favored bunny."

"So, I can see the path of logic you took for the shaved ice projectile," she pondered aloud, "With no prints on the ground or surrounding moisture, it had to be done at range but could leave no trace of its means of propulsion, ergo, a chunk of shaved ice must be hurled; it also explains the 'thunder' and 'rain', with the collision of ice to metal and the melting hiss over the fire. Pinpointing the origin eventually cleared as well, since you intently looked out to where not only the storefronts but the openings of the furnaces faced, but how did you know they were a rhinoceros, as opposed to any other large mammal?"

"That, my dear Lovey, is one of those base instincts that while we, as evolved mammals, can learn to overcome, will always play at the back of our minds," he explained, "Rhinos have a strong inclination to put out fires, and I would imagine that if Mrs. Purnstine saw those embers all through the night, she might be as inclined to put them out as discreetly as possible, especially if they tweaked her last nerve. It was simply the most probable scenario, all facts considered."

"Naturally," Lovey responded, jotting _that_ down, as well, "Why wouldn't Mr. Grey notice what happened, even if he did sleep through what the smith described as 'thunder'? Surely the moisture inside his oven would draw suspicion, same as Mr. Twiller?"

"As a baker, he is in the habit of cleaning out his oven more than the smith his forge, since it could affect the taste and aroma of his goods," Pib explained as they walked towards the train platform, "More likely than not, he came to the conclusion that he overlooked some water and thought nothing more of it than a simple slip of the mind." A grin crossed his face at his partner's arching brow, "Not to imply ill of another species, but foxes are not quick to fall victim to a curse, so long as they keep their heads about them."

"So you are apt to repeat," smirked Lovey, and returned her attention to the notebook as they awaited the midday express with fellow potential passengers, humming thoughtfully, "Captain Beauregard will want a report on this, you know, even though nothing was officially charged."

"I have every faith that _you_ will come up with something remarkably clever, Lovey."

"I'm not writing your report, Pib, and that's final."

"Bah," he scoffed, paws thrusting into his slacks' pockets, "It really does drain all the fun out of solving the mystery."

* * *

 _Hope you enjoyed this snippet. Perhaps there will be more in the future! Thanks for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think, and if you'd like to read more about Lovey & Pib._


End file.
